


the true harvest of my life is intangible

by shanlyrical



Category: The Red Tree - Caitlín R. Kiernan
Genre: Gen, Ghosts, POV Multiple, Psychological Horror, Sexual Content, Supernatural Elements, Surreal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-02 01:34:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16776973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanlyrical/pseuds/shanlyrical
Summary: “Here we are. One is a tree, two is a copse, and three is a wood. A copse and a wood put together make a proper forest,” said the tattoo artist.“I want the copse,” said Constance decisively. “I am she, and she is me, but I am not yet legion.”





	the true harvest of my life is intangible

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tristesses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristesses/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide!

` **S A R A H C R O W E** `

People like to talk about time in terms of lines, or of the pages in a book. Time flies when you’re having fun, or it can drag to a halt. Time passes, yes; time is a passage, a door, and each present moment is a threshold connecting the past with the future.

What is the passing of time like for a tree? Is each hour like a second, a season, a day? Years pass, centuries pass, _millennia_ pass, and the tree remains standing tall and still.

One of the oldest trees in the world is a bristlecone pine in the White Mountains of California. It’s nearly 5,000 years old, and they call it Methuselah. Technically, though, Methuselah is a whippersnapper in comparison to the Pando in Utah. _That_ clonal colony of over 40,000 quaking aspens is estimated at 80,000 years old.

There are trees which clone themselves in order to achieve virtual immortality. Well, how about that?

I was reading this in the newspaper this morning: Umeå University scientists have announced the discovery the oldest known living individual of a clonal tree system. Old Tjikko, a Norway spruce located the in Fulufjället Mountains in Sweden, is 9,550 years old. They’re calling it the World’s Oldest Living Tree. This tree came into existence right around the same time woolly mammoths and sabertooth tigers were going extinct! Just imagine.

What are you doing, Sarah? Get to the point already!

I had another dream about Constance last night, fuck me. Constance the Inconstant, Constance the Unreal. She was sitting in a tattoo parlor in Providence, and a tattoo artist was showing her a series of calligraphic designs.

“Here we are. One is a tree, two is a copse, and three is a wood. A copse and a wood put together make a proper forest,” said the tattoo artist.

“I want the copse,” said Constance decisively. “I am she, and she is me, but I am not yet legion.”

I scribbled down the designs Constance was being shown as soon as I woke up. In order, they were:

## 木 林 森 森林

In other news, I’ve done it. I’ve gone and burned Dr. Harvey’s manuscript. That was my one big accomplishment of the day. Sorry, but enough is enough. I don’t want him haunting me, too.

` **C O N S T A N C E H O P K I N S** `

Constance Hopkins was sleeping with a man who was old enough to be her father, and she wasn’t the least bit sorry.

“Aaaah…there… _there_ …!” she whimpered as Dr. Charles L. Harvey, tenured professor in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at the University of Rhode Island, flicked his tongue against her clit and brought her to hot, clenching orgasm for the third time in a single night.

“So, was that better than that weird story you found in the basement?” asked Charles afterwards as they cuddled.

“Maaaybe,” she replied, light and teasing. “It’s a tough call.”

Charles rolled over, his back to Constance, feigning a fit of pique.

“I don’t understand why you don’t want to see it,” pouted Constance, like a child. They were playful with each other like that. “Aren’t writers supposed to be interested in the work of other writers? Hey, do you want me to read it aloud to you? I’ll go get it.”

Constance was out of bed and flying down the stairs before Charles could respond with either a yea or a nay. Although technically she and Charles were only renting the attic loft of the Wright farmhouse, there were no other tenants at present, so they’d made the whole house their own. Constance had claimed the downstairs bedroom as her studio, and that’s also where she’d been warehousing her various basement discoveries – of which there had been many since their arrival a month ago.

Yep, it was right where she had left it. She grabbed the sheaf of onionskin paper and hurried back up to the attic…

…and a nightmare vision straight out of a horror movie.

Constance screamed and screamed.

The typed manuscript of “Pony” by Sarah Crowe fell from her nerveless fingers and lay scattered about her bare feet like the fallen leaves of a red oak tree.

` **C H A R L E S L. H A R V E Y** `

“Have you sent it yet?”

Her voice seems to rise up from the floorboards themselves. You glower at them balefully.

“Today’s _Sunday_. I’ll make a trip to the post office tomorrow,” you yell.

“Promise?”

“Yes, _yes_ , already! I _promise_.”

Jesus Christ, she nags you worse than your daughter. Your daughter, who isn’t speaking to you or taking your phone calls because you cheated on her mother with one of your students. Your daughter, who kicked you out of the house during what was supposed to be your long-awaited sabbatical year.

You should be writing your book, making your next modest original contribution to the vast stores of academic knowledge that nobody besides your post-tenure review board will bother to read. Actually, truth be told, you should be _finished_ writing your book by now. But instead, you’re…well, um.

You’re the one who got yourself into this situation, and now you’re stuck. It’d been nice for a while, but then it’d soured. You need to start facing facts. Really, you have only yourself to blame.

“Hey, Chuck?”

You grunt a wordless acknowledgement. You don’t know if she can hear you, and you don’t especially care.

She doesn’t seem to care if she can hear you either. “I’m going for a walk,” she continues, matter of fact. “Be back in an hour or so.”

You hate how relieved you feel at her announcement. You wait until you hear the back door slam before descending from your attic abode to use the bathroom and raid the kitchen. An hour or so, she said? Excellent. You kick back on the couch with a hot mug of mulled apple cider to enjoy the peace and quiet for the better part of an hour.

Your timing – and hers – is impeccable. You’re halfway up the stairs to the attic when you hear her heavy hiking boots clomping on the porch, and you close yourself off in your room, safe and sound and _sans_ confrontation, just as the door to the house is opening.

You gasp when you notice the leaves. Red oak leaves everywhere, blanketing the floor, the desk, the bed. Is this a prank? Poor taste, if so. And what the hell…? There’s an oil painting hanging from the far wall. It depicts—

Almost in spite of yourself, with trepidation, you approach the painting.

It’s a painting within a painting, depicting a woman sitting in front of the infamous red tree, working on a half-finished canvas of a woman painting the red tree. The woman has black hair, and her eyes, narrowed in concentration, are an improbably rich shade of cinnabar. She’s unfamiliar. You don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone like her before in your life.

“The tree isn’t a tree. The tree is _a door_.”

Speaking of doors, hadn’t you shut yours behind you? You certainly hadn’t heard her come up the stairs behind you. Normally, this would bother you, but your mind is still occupied with the mysterious painting…

Hmm. You get in really close, bend, and squint at the lower right corner of the canvas. You can see a faint artist’s signature: _C. Hopkins_ …? Wait, who…?!

“Sarah, what in the hell is the meaning of this?” you demand.

Sarah Crowe says nothing in reply.

**Author's Note:**

> Reference: [World's Oldest Living Tree - 9550 years old - Discovered In Sweden](https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2008/04/080416104320.htm)
> 
> Reference: [Wikipedia list of the oldest-known trees](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_oldest_trees)


End file.
